New to this campfire story time and seeking improvement (validation)
If you like or hate something I write please email me to let me know at [email protected]
Isaac’s feet pound the sidewalk as he sprints down the street, eyes to his running feet that seemingly glide across the neglected cement below. From cracks bloom flowering weeds, from loose stone turns dust. Isaac feels himself breathing heavily and tries consciously to control and maintain an equilibrium as he pushes himself harder. ‘Run, RUN’ reverberates through his head. The streets before him are desolate, cars littered about without pattern. As if the drivers had tired of doing just that, so pulling the handbrake, they step out and away from this lonesome street. Shop fronts are painted black with the memories of a fire, the once bustling CBD now a relic of all lives lived here. Running still, glass crunches between the soles of his shoes and the brown stained pavement. Feeling himself tiring Isaac puts everything he has into this final sprint; his clear mind brings him a delightful moment of solitude as his feet beg him to stop. Violently panting his legs begin to shake beneath him until he slows himself allowing a deep inhalation and a satisfactory release. Pulling his wireless headphones out of his ears as he looks upon a converted parking lot, military vehicles abandoned and countless bodies lay alone in black bags, stacked atop one another, and scattered without a care. From the headphones Isaac still hears Vivaldi’s Four Seasons: Spring, the stunning strings and chaotic sunshine energy ring out through the empty city streets. He wonders what he did to deserve such a beautiful sunny day.
Travelling into the featureless ellipsoid that is the Messier 89 galaxy we are called, as if sirens on algae laden rocks serenade and lure. We find ourselves mesmerized by the spinning elegance of its two resident blackholes. These supermassive lovers live in that finite equilibrium that we all know. That state of being that to most would seem everlasting. This binary system with its rippling waves of gravity can be heard by all that are listening and, just one is.
To Entropic Love
When we think of love: we think of sun light scattering thoughtfully through shutters; we think of the moon rising above mountain ranges and the clouds sharing its light with the sky; we think of it as whole, not partial, but solidified and undying. To know love, however, is to know that this is not it’s true form. A form that is no more a form at all than the shifting seasons. Love is limited, its beauty defined by its transience. To think of love: we should think of raging winds and crashing tides that together erode populated shores; we should think of two asteroids against all odds colliding in the vast nothingness of space, only to be sent hurtling apart once more; we should think of that beauty existing, not infinitely, but powerfully with finality in tow.